


Lead Me

by stardropdream



Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: Alternate Universe - Sentinels & Guides, Getting Together, Guide Shiro (Voltron), M/M, Mild Hurt/Comfort, Mutual Pining, Post-Season/Series 07, Season 8 Doesn't Exist, Sentinel Keith (Voltron), Sentinel/Guide, Sentinel/Guide Bonding, Telepathic Bond
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-21
Updated: 2020-11-21
Packaged: 2021-03-10 05:41:08
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,100
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27658309
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/stardropdream/pseuds/stardropdream
Summary: Keith doesn't mean to fall into the Fugue, but his anxiety over Shiro hearing some of his more Shiro-centric thoughts sends him spiraling and losing control of his senses. Thankfully, Shiro is there to guide him back home, and to set things right.
Relationships: Keith/Shiro (Voltron)
Comments: 79
Kudos: 312





	Lead Me

**Author's Note:**

> Gift fic for [Infie](https://twitter.com/existence_proof), who won my 1.8k follower giveaway on Twitter! She requested a Sentinel/Guide AU!
> 
> My knowledge of Sentinel/Guide AU is very limited (and thank you to Infie for providing a thorough guide to the terminology). My biggest exposure is the amazing Sentinel/Guide sheith fic that Sarah wrote, which you should [all check out here if you haven't already.](https://archiveofourown.org/works/26635504)
> 
> If you're not familiar with the trope, either, you can still read this! Essentially all you need to know is: Sentinels have heightened senses that can go out of control sometimes and Guides have the ability to calm Sentinels down and dim their senses by establishing a bond through a mind-link. (Also known as: catch me always ready to cry over an excuse to give sheith a telepathic bond.) 
> 
> Thank you eternally to [Sunday](https://twitter.com/SundaySEternal) for reading this over for me!

Keith doesn’t mean to enter the Fugue. 

It’s been a long time since he’s fallen into his senses like that, everything too much at once, everything threatening to overwhelm him. The last time it happened to him, it’d been just after Shiro’s disappearance after the battle with Zarkon. It’d been _too much_ , grief slamming into his senses until he wept and slid inward. Even before that, there were only a smattering of times at the Garrison, so soon after his awakening. 

Shiro was assigned to him at the Garrison to help maintain his senses, a tentative link forming between them long before their friendship solidified. It wasn’t a formal bond— no Garrison brass worth anything would waste a Guide like Shiro on someone as unneeded as Keith— but it was enough to help Keith maintain his senses and powers. Shiro was a steady, but soft presence in the back of his mind— like a finch on a branch. Barely a weight on his mind, but the gentlest of songs. 

It’s been a long time since Keith was that same little whelp darting down the halls, eternally primed and ready for a fight. So much has happened. An intergalactic war, for one thing. The deepest mourning he’s ever experienced, a year spent in the desert where only the one thought of, _He’s still alive and I’ll figure out how to save him,_ kept him from going Feral entirely, finding his mother and learning how to navigate a universe in which his parent still exists, fighting his best friend to win him back. 

Despite all this— despite all the times Keith has resisted the Fugue, maintained control of his heightened senses no matter the cost— it’s somehow just a mundane day when he falls into the Fugue. 

He’s sparring in the Atlas gym, his typical activity after his morning tea. He’s working with Allura today, when normally it might be Shiro. That alone is enough to make him feel anxious. He woke up anxious, if he’s honest. He knows it even when he enters the gym with Allura, listening absently as she chats about a new Terran cuisine she’s trying. (Vegan cheese, he thinks she says.)

Keith can’t help the anxiety, though. He can’t stop thinking about the message Shiro sent him last night, chirping through the PADD and slamming right into Keith’s fight or flight instincts: _There’s something important that I need to talk with you about tomorrow. If you’re free?_

Absurd, really, to think that Keith would ever _not_ be free for Shiro. He’ll always make time for Shiro. 

But there was something ominous about the overly formal message and Keith’s still thinking about it even this morning, after a few hours last night trying to pinpoint what exactly Shiro could want to talk about. There’s only one reasonable explanation. Shiro only ever warns Keith that he needs to speak with him when it’s something Big and Important, possibly dangerous or upsetting. 

This message arrived a few hours after their last meeting— just hanging out in the cafeteria together, eating dinner— and Keith’s shields had dropped and he’d let a damning thought slip past him, slamming across the lingering bridge between them: _You’re so handsome, sometimes I can’t breathe._

He’s usually much better about clamping such thoughts back down. Shiro is an expert at maintaining shields. It’d been a mistake, and Keith felt his heart drop the second the thought escaped him and he saw Shiro’s reaction.

He’d fumbled midway through a sentence and stopped abruptly, blinking at Keith in a barely suppressed shock. His shields slammed up hard, as if retroactively resisting Keith’s intrusive thought. 

Keith couldn’t interpret what the expression meant— Shiro staring straight at Keith— but it didn’t necessarily look like a happy expression. Keith had mumbled an excuse and made his escape, not bothering to look back at Shiro as he left. 

And now the message from Shiro burns unanswered on Keith’s PADD. 

It’s fine. Keith’s long since accepted that his love is unrequited. Having Shiro’s friendship is enough. It will always be enough. 

And now, he’s in the gym with Allura and trying desperately not to think about it— meaning that all he’s doing is thinking about it. He’s trying to work through a few new moves he’s been perfecting and practicing, but his mind is too frenzied. He gets stuck in the feeling of movement. The flex and tension of his muscles, the smooth slide of his bare feet against the training mat, the slick of sweat against his forehead, his hair matted up at the temples and falling loose from his braid, the panting of his breath swirling in his lungs. 

And it’s too much. He feels everything. Touch screams across his skin, like a thousand pinpricks. The sound of his own breathing is deafening and it’s harder to breathe. He stills and takes a kick in his side from Allura for his troubles. 

“Oh—” she says, and she might as well shout it for how loud the voice rings through Keith’s ears. He flinches, hitting the ground hard and rolling.

He curls into a ball, but that’s almost too much, too. His clothes are too heavy on his skin, the mat pressing up against him with unrelenting force. Gravity hangs so heavy on him it might as well be a boulder weighing against his very bones, crushing him down until he can’t breathe. He cries out when Allura touches him to check if he’s injured.

“Oh, Keith—” she says-shouts, her voice higher this time, and he knows she’s concerned but he doesn’t have the language to reassure her. He can hear the pounding of her heartbeat, already so much faster than a human’s in its natural state, a rapid-fire gunshot into his eardrums. He thinks he might start sobbing, if he had the sense-capacity to manage it. The tears come, and the salt of them stings like they’re clawing down his cheeks rather than slipping. 

“Shiro,” he manages to grit out before the world becomes too loud, too bright, too heavy, too thick. 

He feels the tendrils of thoughts pushing at his and he can’t even manage to slam his shields up— he never was good at shielding his thoughts, that was always Shiro’s job— and he can feel the hapless attempts from a Guide in the gym, trying to help him. But it doesn’t work. Their thoughts glance off Keith like it’s nothing. Their fumbling attempts to build a mind-bridge are useless. Allura is a Sentinel like him and can do little to help him, her shouts for someone on the other side of the gym garbled and warbly enough that it no longer sounds like language to Keith. 

The Fugue is strange— it’s an overwhelming assault of all his senses and yet feels strangely void. He is surrounded by so much that it cancels out until he is mindless with it. 

He feels foreign minds— nobody, nobody, nothing that could help him— glancing off his frenzied mind. He doesn’t have his shields up and still they can’t help him. He clenches his eyes shut, shuddering apart at the seams. How absurd, that anxiety would be the thing to send him into Fugue when he’s undergone the horrors of war. 

_Useless, useless,_ he thinks, over and over. The world is swallowing him whole and—

And then he feels Shiro. 

He can’t even really describe what it feels like for Shiro to enter his mind. Keith doesn’t hear him approach, doesn’t feel him kneel beside him, doesn’t hear the sound of his name on Shiro’s lips— but Keith feels the familiar drape of Shiro’s thoughts as they glide into his mindspace. Shiro is always welcome. Keith knows this shadow well, always a welcoming blanket within him. 

There was a time when Keith couldn’t fathom the thought of his mind empty of Shiro— both literally and figuratively. He is always here, if not in Keith’s heart then connected through their link. It’s how he knew Shiro was still out there in the desert— he could feel him, no matter how distant, the little tendrils lingering like dandelion roots, waiting to bloom anew. 

Keith has no sense of the world outside his mind, but he knows Shiro is there. Someone— likely Allura— must have called for him. Keith’s garbled attempt at his name must have been signal enough to what he needed. 

“Follow my voice,” Shiro says, and it’s comforting the way it always is when it’s Shiro leading him home. Keith has no idea if Shiro speaks it aloud or if it’s merely a passing thought within Keith’s mind. But he follows. 

He’ll always follow. 

The mind is a strange place, sometimes far too foundational and other times too nebulous. Sometimes, it feels like literally following Shiro through a maze, navigating around corners and finding the way back. Other times, it’s like an anchor on his chest, leaving him in the murkiest of waters, the single chain to Shiro yanking him back up to breathe. Other times, it’s nothing that Keith can describe in metaphor— it is existing and not-existing, it is lost and un-lost, it is finding Shiro and knowing his presence. 

The bridge between them hardly feels like a separation of space sometimes, but more like the effervescent bubble of champagne, sparkling and glittering all around him. 

_My guiding light,_ he’d thought once, when he was feeling particularly romantic, watching Shiro discuss some sort of development in a recent flight sim. Shiro is light. And Shiro is a Guide. It’d made sense at the time, although Keith would never to dare speak it aloud. 

Keith would follow Shiro anywhere. He has followed him. Shiro is the guiding point that lights Keith’s way home. His guiding light. 

He knows how it would sound to call Shiro that. It’s far too revealing.

Then again, Shiro is an expert of the mindscape. He likely has seen Keith’s thoughts— his feelings for Shiro— splayed out every time he strays in to help pull Keith home or maintain his senses. That’s what a Guide is meant to do, after all— protect the Sentinel from himself. These thoughts, Keith’s unruly mind, is why he needs to talk with Keith, after all— to finally reject him outright, to make his stance known.

Shiro’s been kind. He’s let Keith feel his emotions without drawing attention to them. Keith knows Shiro would only reject him if Keith dared to make himself too known. If he backed Shiro into a corner from which he couldn’t politely deflect. 

Keith’s thoughts are a flurry. He feels himself sinking deeper into the Fugue, washed away by that anxiety, that dread, that _love_. 

“Follow my voice,” Shiro says again, softer this time. His voice sounds muddled, far-away but whispery. Keith chases it. His ears are ringing. 

“Everything’s too bright,” he says, although it isn’t quite what he means. He wants to look at Shiro but he can’t find him. He feels halfway between his body and his mind, the real world and nothingness. 

The world around him dims. He feels the heavy weight of Shiro in his mind, dimming his senses one by one— visual first, so often so overwhelming. The world looks spotty as Keith blinks, clearing his vision. He focuses on the perfect grey of Shiro’s eyes, every ridge of his irises that he can see in perfect clarity even with the dulled senses. 

It is Shiro, here before him. Keith doesn’t remember being pulled onto his knees, but he’s here before Shiro— and he can see Shiro. Shiro, perfect Shiro. Beautiful, handsome, strong Shiro. Keith stares into his eyes, feeling the edges blur. He wants to only look at Shiro.

“It’s okay,” Shiro murmurs. “I’ve got you.” 

That was never in doubt. Keith blinks. 

He's rapidly aware of the breathing in his chest, the rise and fall of his lungs. It’s overwhelming, up until Shiro dims his sense of touch— and then he feels more numb, just the overbright sounds ringing in his ears, the hyperintense scents, the taste of his own tongue in his mouth. 

He might whimper. He tries not to hear it, but he hears the whine of it, the painful twinge of it on its tail-end. 

Shiro makes an answering sound, and he might as well be shouting. Keith nearly flinches, even though Shiro’s voice is soothing, soft as silk. “Keith,” he murmurs. “Keith, just follow my voice.” 

Keith is following. He’s running, sprinting, tripping his way to Shiro. He’ll always go for Shiro, no matter what. Sometimes, the force of his own loyalty feels startling— but that’s just how good Shiro is, how important Shiro has always been. 

He sees the flicker of Shiro’s eyes, studying him. 

“Keith,” he says, hushed. 

Keith wonders if Shiro heard that, too. 

He still can’t speak. He has to close his eyes, fighting his way back into control. He’s done this before. He can do this again, with or without Shiro. Shiro’s a guiding force, the bridge solid between them. Keith’s senses calm as Shiro plucks them apart piece by piece. Shiro’s always been a master of controlling senses and emotions, of slowing everything down. He’s meticulous, instinctive in it. It’s what’s always made him a good leader. Keith tries to be a good leader, but he lacks the skill of de-escalation Shiro has. 

“Shh,” Shiro murmurs. “You’re okay. Just follow me.” 

Keith does. He does. 

“You’re doing great,” Shiro says, and Keith whimpers again. “Yeah, Keith,” Shiro says, his voice so perfectly gentle, soothing like honey on a sore throat. “I’m here. You’re doing so well. Just come back. Come back to me.” 

“Shiro,” Keith croaks and his voice sounds far too husky, like he hasn’t spoken in years. He flinches, the sensation of his own voice box vibrating, his throat constricting, his lungs inflating, with words, with language, is too much. 

But the sensations slide back, little by little. Shiro knows better than to slam Keith down into numbness. He knows to peel everything back slowly, to make it gradual. It’s the best way to pull someone from the Fugue. 

It takes some time, but Keith feels himself return. He heaves in a breath and lets it back out again, blinking his eyes open to meet Shiro’s. He hadn’t realized he’d closed his eyes. 

Shiro lingers close, just as before, their foreheads pressed together. His fingertips skim Keith’s jaw, like he might cradle him but is uncertain if it would be too overwhelming a touch. Keith blinks, trying not to focus on the drag of it, how every inch of his body feels hollowed out.

His shaking hands lift, hooking around the back of Shiro’s neck. He holds on, not letting Shiro draw away. He stares into his eyes. 

“Hey,” Shiro says. “Are you here with me?”

Keith would nod, but that would mean not being pressed to Shiro. The sensation of touch feels like a bond all its own. “Yeah,” he whispers. “I think so.” 

His fingers thread together, weaving along the knobs of Shiro’s spine in his neck, an unbreakable force, anchoring him here. Shiro doesn’t seem eager to pull away, content to maintain the link both physical and mental. 

Slowly, Keith feels the sensation of Shiro building their shields up, protecting Keith. Keith breathes out, his heart fluttering, and closes his eyes again. 

“Sorry,” Keith murmurs. “And thanks.” 

“I got a flurry of messages all at once from a few concerned cadets and lieutenants, plus Allura,” Shiro says. “I came right away.” 

“Sorry,” Keith says, although Shiro is hardly scolding him. 

“I’ll always come if you need me,” Shiro says. He pauses. “I need to take you to med-bay. Can you walk or should I carry you?” 

The idea of Shiro carrying him feels overwhelming in a few too many ways, and not just for the sensation of touch. He shakes his head. “I can walk.” 

With regret, he drops his hands from Shiro, drawing away from the forehead touch. Shiro’s hands are steady on him, helping him get to his feet. When Keith thinks to look around, there’s nobody there— the room cleared out entirely, likely thanks to Allura or Shiro’s command. 

“Let’s go,” Shiro says, soothing as ever. 

The walk is a slow one. Even with Keith back to himself, Shiro’s presence in his mind doesn’t withdraw. The shields are up, the bridge a separation between them, but Keith can sense that Shiro is still dampening everything for Keith, unwilling for him to feel everything as brightly as he tends to. 

Keith isn’t numb, not really, but he can’t quite make sense of the examination the med-team full of Guides puts him through. He takes the bottle of pills they offer him— they will make him feel void, should he need it— but can’t quite manage to take his eyes off Shiro in turn. Shiro withdraws from his mind enough to let the med-team work with Keith, but Keith knows he’s still there. He never actually leaves. 

Shiro only speaks again once they take their leave of med-bay, insisting on escorting Keith back to his quarters. 

“That was embarrassing,” Keith mutters to himself. 

“It’s okay,” Shiro says once they’re inside Keith’s quarters and Shiro’s satisfied that Keith seems suitably comfortable and in no danger of going into the Fugue again. 

Keith glances over at him, a question in his eyes.

Shiro’s mouth flickers with a small smile. “Sometimes, the simplest things can trigger Sentinels. It’s not your fault, Keith.” 

Keith shakes his head, embarrassed as he looks away, avoiding Shiro’s eyes. He’s sure that Shiro could see all his thoughts, all his feelings, laid out before him. He sinks deeper into the couch cushions when Shiro helps him settle onto it. 

He waits for Shiro to sit beside him, but Shiro is jittery energy— an absorption of Keith’s anxiety during their mind-bridge, maybe— making Keith some tea and also bringing a tall glass of water, as if uncertain which type of hydration to offer. 

Keith takes the tea, holding the heavy mug in his hands and feeling the radiating warmth through the enamel. 

“I haven’t actually had to do that since coming back into this body,” Shiro says in a little murmur. “I wasn’t sure if I could.” 

“What?” 

“Guide,” Shiro says, finally sitting down on the couch beside Keith. His hands look so big against the cushions, laid out awkwardly as if Shiro’s unsure what to do with them. “Bring you back.” 

Keith hums. “I guess you haven’t had to do that for a while.” 

“I don’t think it was a matter of practice, in this case.” 

“What do you mean?” Keith asks as he sips his tea. He can’t place the taste, perhaps because his senses are still dulled or because Shiro chose something soothing and without much flavor. Chamomile, maybe, but the cheap kind. 

Shiro shakes his head. “Being stuck in Black, it…” He breathes in and back out again, collecting his words. “It felt like how I think the Well is supposed to feel.” 

Keith shivers at the thought of it— the Well, the deepest, darkest part of the soul, where any Sentinel or Guide might fall and never pull out again. Living still, but barely. Keith’s never known of anyone who’s fallen into the Well, but he knows it’s a fate worse than death. 

Shiro’s smile is a brittle thing, cracked at the edges. “I think the fact I didn’t have a body is the only thing that kept me from Chaos in Black, you know? It was just… a lot.” He pauses, touching a hand to his chest. “I didn’t know how my training would translate, into this body. This isn’t the body that went through that Guide training, but my mind did. But if you think about it, it’s a cloned brain… with my consciousness in it. So which carries over?” 

Keith’s face twists into a complicated expression. It’s existential, but that’s Shiro’s tendency— even before being cloned, he tended towards morbid existentialism, tucked in the corners of his dark humor. 

“Anyway,” Shiro says. “This is about you, not me. I’m glad you’re okay, Keith. How are you feeling? I can pull back the dampened senses whenever you think you’re ready.” 

So Shiro is still dampening him. Strange, how natural it feels for Shiro to be in his mind— there, but hardly felt. Not for lack of care, but for how natural it feels to have such a bond with him. 

“You help,” Keith insists, ignoring Shiro’s dismissal. “You always help me.” 

Shiro shakes his head. “I haven’t had to help you in a long time, Keith. You’ve always been strong without me, you know?” 

Keith shakes his head empathetically, nearly giving himself a headache for the force of the air against his temples. He slows, letting his vision swim with dizziness. He doesn’t know if anybody would have told Shiro of the time, when he was presumed dead, that Keith fell into a Fugue. It’d only been his stubborn determination to find Shiro again that let Keith claw his way out of it. If he were really strong, he never would have fallen in the first place. 

He can still feel Shiro in his mind, withdrawn enough now to give him privacy, a shield held up between them to block their thoughts. But he feels the wisps of Shiro’s calming presence— exuding gentleness, lightness, kindness. He’s soothing Keith, even now. That’s always been Shiro’s way. 

“I always need you,” Keith says.

Shiro smiles. “That’s not true.” 

Keith wants to insist, but he isn’t sure how to put voice to it. Maybe he doesn’t need Shiro, not really. Maybe he’s always been able to take care of himself on his own. But that doesn’t mean that it’s his natural state, or what feels most natural. It’s a forced independence from the life Keith’s lived. He’s still learning to let others in, but—

“I always want you, then,” Keith says. It sounds far too honest as soon as he says the words. He blushes, looking down as he fumbles with the soft fabric of his jacket— designed specifically for the needs of a Sentinel and their aversion to intense texture— and clearing his throat. “I mean. I always want you with me. You know. We’re best friends, and all that.” 

His mind is a flurry of embarrassing thoughts and images— and he’s sure there’s no hiding it from Shiro. Maybe Keith will go into Fugue again and save himself the horrible reality of just broadcasting all his desire for Shiro right at the man himself.

Shiro chuckles though, almost heartbroken in its sound. Keith jerks his head up to look at Shiro. His eyes are misty, but his smile is unbearably sweet. He reaches for Keith’s hands, hesitating right before he touches him. Keith’s quick to grab his hands back, squeezing tight. 

“I always want to be beside you, too,” Shiro says in a low murmur. “Keith.” 

Keith gulps, his heart flurrying in his chest. He’s not sure how he even manages to stomach the flutter of his heart. Even this threatens to undo him. Maybe he really would have gone Feral a long time ago, if not for Shiro. 

He looks at Shiro. He’s looking back, the same calm slipping past the shields, his grey eyes gentle. 

Keith has to look away again. “Anyway. You said you wanted to talk later. What was it?”

“That can wait,” Shiro says. “You should rest, Keith.” 

Keith shakes his head. “Just get it over with, Shiro. I’m a big boy. Might help that you’re dampening me. Just— put me out of my misery.” 

Shiro looks surprised at that. Keith can see his expression morph out of the corner of his eye, his eyebrows doing a strange jump before they furrow. He frowns. Past the shields, Keith can feel the whisper of confused thoughts, all flurrying together. 

“What do you mean?” 

“I know you can… feel my thoughts,” Keith says. 

“I try not to hear them,” Shiro says. “To give you privacy—”

“They’re loud,” Keith says. “I know they are. You can’t help it. I don’t blame you. But— yeah. Just. Reject me already and we can move past it, you know?” 

“Reject you?” Shiro asks. 

Shiro is so damnably kind. He looks alarmed, unsettled in a quiet way. The calming presence is nearly gone from Keith’s mind, replaced with a void of feeling— everything locked away behind Shiro’s shields. Maybe Shiro doesn’t see it as rejection. Maybe he wouldn’t use such a harsh word. 

Keith knows. It’s okay. Even if Shiro’s not in love with him, he does love Keith. That much Keith knows. They’ll be friends, no matter what. Maybe there’ll be some initial awkwardness on Shiro’s part as he learns to navigate a friendship with someone who’s in love with him. But they’ll get past it. They’ve gotten past far worse. Maybe Shiro will convince himself that eventually Keith’s love will fade, that Keith’s heart won’t be broken forever. 

“Keith,” Shiro whispers. “Your shields—” 

Maybe his shields aren’t as firm as he thought. All his thoughts are slipping past, flooding between them in their makeshift bond. They never did make a formal bond, not really. Shiro’s talents would be wasted on Keith. 

“ _Keith_ —” Shiro says again, hushed. 

“It’s okay,” Keith says. “You already know everything, don’t you?” 

Shiro looks like he’s been slapped. His hands curl around Keith’s and he lurches forward, reaching for Keith then. Keith’s breath hitches but Shiro stops just short of him, his hands hovering just before they reach out to touch Keith properly. Shiro is trembling. 

“Your senses—” Shiro says. “You’re still sensitive.” 

Keith shakes his head. “I can handle anything, Shiro.” 

The world dims, like Shiro wants to dampen him further. And just as quickly, Keith’s senses surge back. Not at full sensation, but brighter than numb. Keith breathes in and out again, letting himself feel it all. 

“You’re right,” Shiro says, one hand dropping to the back of the couch and the other falling into his lap. He’s so much closer to Keith than before. “You’re— we should work on your shields-work a bit more. Your thoughts and feelings keep slipping through.” 

Keith nods. “So you’ve felt my…” 

He can’t quite say it. It’s absurd. He’s shouted that he loves Shiro to his face before, and yet he can’t just say, _love for you,_ like it’s some ever-present, encompassing thing. It is. It really is. But saying it feels too forceful. 

It’s a moot point. He’s thought it, and so Shiro’s heard it, anyway. 

Shiro’s cheeks are a bright red, his eyes wide. His throat bobs as he swallows. 

“I’m not great with this sort of thing, Keith,” Shiro says. “But— why do you think I’m rejecting you?” 

Keith frowns, brow furrowing. He tilts his head, studying Shiro. Shiro isn’t cruel, has never been so. 

Shiro bites his lip. He sighs, reaching for Keith again. This time, he doesn’t stop— his big palms, one flesh and the other metal, cup Keith’s cheeks. He leans forward and Keith gasps, but the movement isn’t to greet Keith in a kiss, but instead to press their foreheads together again.

“Listen,” Shiro whispers.

“I am,” Keith says, the response automatic.

It makes Shiro’s mouth flicker with a smile— and then Keith feels Shiro’s shields drop entirely. 

It’s a rare flood, the type of thing Keith can only feel because they’ve established their mind-link. And it _is_ a flood— a wave of Shiro’s thoughts and feelings washing over Keith. It’s only because Shiro is still dampening him that he isn’t overwhelmed by it. 

The affection is what hits him first. But he always knew Shiro felt affection for him, ever since he was a dumb kid following after him with his puppy crush. But it’s more than that. It’s affection, yes, but also pride, delight, surprise, care. The deepest ocean of empathy, of understanding and acceptance. Keith can’t speak to how he knows what each sensation means, what the emotion is, but he knows it because it’s Shiro’s thoughts, all of Shiro’s thoughts.

With their minds linked, Shiro’s thoughts are Keith’s— seeing himself through Shiro’s eyes. The way he’s grown, the strength of his determination, his unyielding loyalty, his spark of rebelliousness and self-assurance. Pride, so much pride. _You inspire me,_ he hears Shiro think, and Keith’s left gasping.

It’s the love that threatens to undo him. It’s endless, encompassing him entirely. It’s the sweetest feeling that Keith’s ever felt— seeing the flood of memories, all the times Shiro’s looked at Keith and thought, _I love him with everything I am._

Keith sees how he looked when Shiro opened his eyes again after being stuck in Black, how relieved and happy he looked. The one clear thought ringing in Shiro’s mind, bright as a bell: _I’ll live for you. I’ll always come when you need me._

Maybe Keith should have kissed him then, like he wanted to. 

He makes up for it by kissing Shiro now. He presses forward, tilting his head and kissing Shiro before he can question it. It’s nearly suffocating, the sensation of all of Shiro’s thoughts tumbling through him. But it’s the best sort of overwhelming, the sort of chaos and unsettlement that feels like falling in love in the first place.

Keith lets his own thoughts answer Shiro, everything flowing between them. His thoughts merge with Shiro’s, his emotions with Shiro’s, until it’s one and the same. They’re together, thoughts woven together— Keith loves Shiro and Shiro loves Keith. 

It’s blissful to kiss Shiro, relief washing through them— the sensation of relief, of belonging, of _at last, finally, now._

He kisses Shiro and it feels like breathing. It’s as easy as breathing always would be. He feels Shiro’s fingers sink into his hair, cradling his head, kissing him with such sweetness that Keith’s left breathless with it. The soft press of his lips, the slide of his tongue, the shadow of his breath. 

_I always need you,_ Keith thinks as loudly as he can, letting it ring out between them. He knows Shiro hears it. 

Their kisses are worshipful, joyful— like finding his way home all over again. Keith’s breath flutters when he feels the slip of Shiro’s tongue, the perfect curve of his smile. He melts, sinking into the feeling of it. 

_I love you,_ he hears Shiro think, or maybe it’s Keith’s thought. He isn’t sure where one begins and the other ends. It doesn’t matter when they both think it. 

Keith cups Shiro’s cheeks and never lets go.

**Author's Note:**

> This story is part of the [LLF Comment Project](https://longlivefeedback.tumblr.com/llfcommentproject) (including the [LLF Comment Builder](https://longlivefeedback.tumblr.com/commentbuilder)), which was created to improve communication between readers and authors. This author invites and appreciates responses, including:
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>   * Short comments
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